


DRACO MALFOY AND THE QUESTION OF ENTITLEMENT

by kattegatsun



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A very sneaky peach, Alternate Universe - Lily and James are alive, Alternate Universe - No Voldemort, Canon Characters - Freeform, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, Draco Malfoy is Draco Malfoy, F/M, Ginny is a peach, Harry is Clueless, Hermione Granger is Hermione Granger, Hogwarts Era, I hate Ron, No Deatheaters, Purebloods, Wizarding Politics, Wizarding Traditions, accidental magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-01-31 03:57:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12673932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kattegatsun/pseuds/kattegatsun
Summary: It's been years since the Wizarding War. Voldemort was defeated, Lily and James lived to be parents, and so did Alice and Frank Longbottom. The only thing that remained from the dark times - an old pureblood tradition. Which is the way Draco's been raised, making him once again into the boy who makes all the wrong choices...So wellcome back to Hogwarts, the fifth year reimagined, with accidental magic, blood mania, trouble and mending.ORThat one time when I needed more old school Hogwarts Dramione fics and a very canon Draco. So here I am doing my best to keep everyhting true to the books and give ya'll a throwback to the years of our youth XD





	1. MALICIOUS SPELLWORK

**Author's Note:**

> To all those who misses Hogwarts Era fics and canon Draco - hope you enjoy!
> 
> To all those who read my other fics and are pissed that I didn't finish them - sorry. I suck.

They had shared Potions right after breakfast and Draco couldn’t help but drift out of the conversation that Pansy was determined to have with him, and wander aimlessly a few paces ahead where Potter, Granger and Weasley were deep in what looked like a very animated discussion. They always looked so happy around each other, so grounded and at ease. Neither Pansy nor Crabbe and Goyle ever looked as at ease around him; perhaps because Draco himself could never breech that carefully constructed hierarchy that trapped them and their families before them, but no matter…

Hermione – Granger – laughed and so did Potter, their eyes glued to Weasley’s freckle-spattered face. Draco bristled.

Pansy, familiar enough with his impulses to know when he needed to be leveled out, clasped her fingers tight around his wrist seemingly sending all her strength into keeping him by her side, but even then her hold was easy enough to break, especially after the cool look he shot her.

Draco picked up the pace, lucky for his height as it allowed him to do so with an appearance of utmost idleness. Crabbe and Goyle were left to stumble over their massive feet to catch up with him.

“What was it, Weasley?” He drawled venomously, “Have you told them how much your father makes at that joke of a job?”

“Shut up, Malfoy!” Hermione – Granger – and Potter snapped in unison, their faces immediately losing all the warmth.  

What baffled Draco the most is that he clearly was the injured party here, he clearly was in the right. He had met them first, both Potter and Granger, and thus had reserved the rights for them. One might even say he had the dibs, but Draco wasn’t raised to be that crude.

Either way, it was the three of them together in Diagon Alley before their first year. It was him and Potter in Madam Malkins’, chatting about the new Nimbus 2000 and their shared passion for quidditch while their respectable parents were off running errands. And if Draco did exaggerate here and there, well… He was nervous. He didn’t want to be lonely at school. Sure, he had Pansy and Crabbe, and Goyle, but they never did – at least the latter two – make him feel quite accomplished enough.

Hermione – Granger – did. He ran into her at Olivanders’, her starry hazel eyes and great bushy hair catching him off guard as she stumbled over the threshold on her way out of the shop. He told her to watch it, as he saw his father do on occasion, the lack of elegance being among the greatest sins he found in an uncivilized society. She said sorry and smiled at him brightly showing her rather large front teeth. Oddly enough, his first thought has been that despite the teeth and the hair, and the clumsiness, something about her took his breath away.

“Did you get your wand then?” He breathed, unable to help himself as his eyes landed on a long slim box she’s been clutching close to her chest.

“I did,” She beamed, “Have you? Are you going to Hogwarts for the first time as well? I took a quick flick through ‘Hogwarts: A History’ at that bookstore down the street – the Flourish and Blotts, and it sounds absolutely brilliant!”

Draco stuttered momentarily taken aback by the force of her enthusiasm. He had to admit, he’s never met anyone (except possibly himself) who was quite so assertive. His next idea was to get his mother to buy him this ‘Hogwarts: A History.’ Of course, he’d heard more than enough about the school from his parents… He didn’t immediately realize how could it be that this sharp, obviously curious girl didn’t.

“Yes,” he managed finally and not without dignity, “I am going to Hogwarts this year and I am going to get my wand now. My father says that Olivander is the best wandmaker on the market at the moment, but if he’s unable to offer us a worthy wand, there’s my great grandfather’s one, that is singularly potent.”

“Oh,” the girl breathed, her bright eyes growing bigger and rounder, “Your parents are wizards, aren’t they?”

Draco took that as a personal insult.

“Of course, they are.” He scowled, “I’m Draco Malfoy.”

“Hermione Granger,” She beamed, unlike Draco - perfectly unsuspecting.

He wasn’t sure why, but he really didn’t want to ask about her heritage. Something in him recoiled from finding out whether she really was what he suspected her to be. Somehow, the notion didn’t sit right with him. From what his mother had told him he imagined mudbloods to be filthy, ill-bred mob, not at all as radiant and fascinating as this Hermione Granger.

“Do you know what house you’ll be in by any chance?” He asked carefully instead.

“They are four, aren’t they?” She mused, almost to herself, “Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and…”

“Slytherin,” Draco cut in darkly.

He had this feeling, something he never experienced before, a sense of foreboding defeat and deprivation, that left him bitter and touchy, and restless.

A hand laid heavily upon his shoulder.

He didn’t need to look around to know to whom it belonged.

“Who are you talking to, Draco,” Lucius Malfoy’s sprawling velvety voice raised from behind him, making Draco stiffen and collect himself.

“Nobody,” he managed, though his own voice sounded dejected and grim, “I was just going in.”

He couldn’t quite make himself meet Hermione’s eye though, opting instead to study a grimy dusty glass over her shoulder.

As he moved past her and into the store however, lost amongst the jingling of the doorbell, he was sure he heard her say “I’ll see you at school then,” in that same determined and confident manner.

It was in that same manner now that she told him to: “Leave Ron alone!”

But that wasn’t right! It was Weasley who stole them from him, it was Weasley who sabotaged him, his payback was rather mild and perfectly fair, if you think about it.

“Why, Weasley, how noble of you to hide under you girlfriend’s robes! How’s the view from down there, I bet her knickers are as filthy as her blood?” He felt the words sting even as he said them.

It was bitter, desperate and it kept burning through his spine and through his throat, and through his whole being, almost as if saying those words equaled scorching them into his own skin.

Potter drew his wand so fast, Draco’s eyes barely registered the movement, but his own reaction was even faster, instinctive. And before Harry – Potter – could utter as much as a syllable, he hissed:

“Virtutem dividito,” the spell alien on his tongue.

He’s red so many tomes through the summer, so many dark crooked spells, so many devious curses - all crammed in his father’s secret library - that he wasn’t sure what was the meaning of which anymore. They just kept flashing through his mind, escaping via the only means available – himself.

Whatever Draco might’ve been thinking he didn’t expect what happened next. There was no flash of color, nor any immediate damage, it was almost as if the air itself had shifted around the two of them, condensed and slithered between them, and then - just as suddenly - dispersed, knocking the air out of Draco’s lungs and filling them with something else entirely. Potter swayed too, stared at him with what looked like disbelief for a sheer, fleeting moment, and then collapsed like a puppet whose strings were snapped off.

“What have you-” Hermione breathed, her face horrified as she starred between him and her best friend, lying unconscious on the floor.

Before he could reply however, there was a wave of shuffling in the crowd and a booming voice raising over the heads.

“Step away, step away,” Slughorn prompted good-naturedly, his wide form creating a ripple in the mass of students around him, “Goodness gracious, what happened here?”

This time Draco was the first to get the words out, somehow managing to make them sound light and almost genuine, despite his hands shaking so violently, he had to hurriedly shove them into the pockets of his robes.

“Potter was showing us some new bit of magic, but I’m afraid he wasn’t quite up to the task, professor.”

“Merlin’s beard,” The potions’ master exclaimed anxiously, “Well, don’t just stand there Witherby, take him to the hospital wing! Blaise, my boy, assist him if you will?”

Blaise scowled, but Draco could barely conceal his grin at the tender shade of old porridge that Weasley’s face had adopted in contrast to his ears that were glowing like ambers. 

“Alright,” Slughorn breathed, “The rest of you, follow me, please.”

“Professor,” Hermione – Granger – stepped forward, her voice sounding shrill and unfamiliar, “Harry was my partner, so I… I… May I be excused, I’d like to go to the Hospital Wing with him?”

It was a rare thing, her willingly turning down an opportunity to learn, but it wasn’t exactly all new, Draco thought. She always did put Potter - and Weasley, he had to admit however reluctantly - first. What he wouldn’t admit to himself no matter what however, is how much he wished to be on their place at that moment.

“Nonsense, Miss Granger,” Slughorn waved her off though not entirely unkindly, “Madam Pomfrey is a perfectly capable healer, you’ve absolutely nothing to worry about! As for your partner,” He looked around momentarily in thought, before his eyes landed on Draco, “Draco here is currently without partner as well, I’m sure he’ll be happy to assist you. Won’t you, my boy?”

“Of course, sir.” He replied politely, even as his shaking hands balled into fists in his pockets. Him and Hermione – Granger – together, just as it was supposed to be all along. Almost as it was supposed to be, he corrected himself, accepting her steely glare. 


	2. TRICKS AND TREATS

Hermione was livid.

It seemed that no matter how much she tried to keep her boys in check they kept getting in trouble, whose name was more often than she’d like to admit – Draco Malfoy. It was ridiculous to think now that he was the first person she’s met that belonged uniquely to the wizarding world. It was ridiculous too, to remember how for a whole month before boarding the Hogwarts Express she kept fantasizing about him and what it was like growing up in a wizarding house and in a wizarding family. She’s done it so much, in fact, it became somehow a given to her that they ought to be friends in school.

Needless to say, they were very much the opposite. Though one thing at least Hermione felt she somewhat owed to Malfoy – having Harry and Ron. When she first got on the train to school some five years ago it’s Malfoy she was trying to find when she landed in a compartment with Neville. And thanks to Neville – or rather his freedom-sick toad Trevor – that she ran into Harry and Ron, even if she was looking for somebody else entirely at the time.

“Has anyone seen a toad? A boy named Neville has lost one,” She said for an umpteenth time, opening one compartment door after another.

“Neville?” A boy with vivid green eyes hidden behind round spectacles and with a shock of messy black hair looked at her brightly, “Neville Longbottom? Did he lose Trevor again?”

“Yes,” Hermione drawled curiously, “Do you know him then?”

“He’s a friend of mine, but I didn’t see him on the platform before,” the boy explained.

“I’m Harry. Harry Potter and this is Ron Weasley,” He introduced as the other boy in his compartment, the one with flaming red hair and a face full of freckled chewed his way through what looked like a whole chocolate frog.

“Hai,” he tried to articulate making Hermione grimace as she said:

“Pleasure,” before her mind caught up to what she’d just heard.

“Holy cricket,” she breathed, “Potter? As in the Potter who invented the Safety Watch and the Absolving Goblet, and the Specter Spectacles…”

“That’s my dad,” Harry nodded smiling somewhat awkwardly.

“And the Inscrutable Antidote,” She finished, a bit belatedly realizing that Harry didn’t seem quite as fascinated by the subject as she was.

“That’s my mum, actually.” He admitted just as sheepishly.

Hermione didn’t immediately realize why he’d have that sort of reaction. If her mum and dad were quite as accomplished, she certainly would not be ashamed… Not that she was ashamed of her parents, of course! She loved them no matter what they were.

“Well, my parents are dentists,” She stated defiantly, though whom she was trying to prove her security, she wasn’t momentarily sure, “And you two best change into robes, I expect we'll be arriving soon.”

At that she glanced over at the other boy, Ron.

“You've got dirt on your nose, by the way. Did you know? Just there,” She pointed at her own face, before spinning on her heels and darting out the door anxiously.

She was so desperate to see Draco just then, convinced that if she only found him, nothing would feel so horribly disconcerting anymore. But the next time she saw him was in a small room at the back of the Great Hall while awaiting their sorting, during which he didn’t acknowledge her once. And now, for all she cared, he could just as well be engulfed by the damp stone walls of the Potions room.

“Keep up, would you?” He sneered adding stewed Madrake to their cauldron, where the Invigoration Draught that she started with Harry the previous lesson splashed vigorously, “Or are you only able to perform to the standard when surrounded by incurable morons?”

“Better than insufferable gits,” She sniffed indignantly, even as she had to admit that keeping up with Malfoy wasn’t quite the same as dragging along Ron, or Harry for that matter.

Malfoy was efficient, precise and clever about his efforts, opting to work smart rather than hard. Hermione on the other hand could not concentrate for the life of her, making the same notes twice and only avoiding adding the second portion of Mandrake due to Malfoy’s batting her hand away.

“Don’t touch me, Malfoy,” she bristled, inhaling the dizzying fumes of the potion.

“I’d rather not,” He drawled without acknowledging her with as much as a glance.

“Oh, I’m sorry, does standing too close to a ‘mudblood’ offend your privilege?” She pronounced the word with as much contempt as she could muster, which at the moment wasn’t a little.

“How did you guess?” Her unlikely partner scoffed.

“Well maybe it’ll teach you to think before cursing people next time,” She couldn’t help but chastise him, even as she realized it was to no avail, “What was even that spell?”

He paused in his work for a moment, starring darkly at his vial of dragon blood, before very slowly raising his eyes to meet hers.

“I have no idea.”

Her insides churned, every ounce of her pride being set on fire.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Malfoy! I’m only trying to make sure my friend is alright, surely even you should be able to grasp that concept.”

He started to open his mouth, but she wasn’t going to let him interrupt her just then.

“You want to hear me say it, don’t you? You’ve outsmarted me! I never heard anything about that bloody curse of yours. There, I said it. Happy?”

Malfoy’s lips very slowly, almost uncertainly stretched into a self-satisfied smirk.

“As much as I enjoyed that, Granger, the answer still remains. I have no idea what that spell does. I heard it, I was itching to try it, and your friend Potter looked particularly happy to substitute for a lab rat.”

She didn’t believe him at first. Surely even Malfoy wasn’t that vile! But then why would he lie even after she admitted his excellence; that ought to have made him even more proud of what he’s done, and Malfoy of all people wouldn’t miss an opportunity to boast about surpassing her.

No.

What was the incantation again?

No…

“You vile, loathsome, evil – ” She stained through gritted teeth, shaking with barely suppressed desire to curse him on the spot, turn him into something slimy and pitiful, and gross. “You really have no idea! You could’ve done irreparable damage, you nasty, foul – ”

She didn’t get to finish her sentence, or hear out the offensive retort Malfoy undoubtedly had at the tip of his tongue.

“That’s it for today,” Slughorn’s carrying voice floated over the heads and the fumes raising from the cauldrons, “Leave your cauldrons, you’ll continue your work the next lesson. In the meantime, I’d like to see a foot-long essay on the twelve uses of dragon blood from all of you. Now go ahead, don’t be late your ne - ”

Hermione scooped up her books and notes, and was out of the door before he even finished speaking. There was only one place where she could find some peace of mind, and if Ron had half a brain, he’ll know to find her there and tell her about Harry.

She had the library door in sight after only a few exerting minutes, just a couple of paces separating her from the blissful, knowledgeable quiet, when the voice she’d rather not hear anytime soon caught up with her again.

“Granger,” Malfoy bellowed.

“Leave me alone, Malfoy!” She snapped without turning or slowing down.

“Stop or I swear – ” He huffed, his footsteps getting closer.

Hermione whipped around, coming to a halt so quickly, he nearly knocked her off her feet.

“What?” She shrieked, “You’ll curse me with another foul spell you don’t even know?”

“Not if you return my book,” He spat, rolling his eyes and scowling.

“What?”

“You stole my book, you – ” He looked as if he was thinking about actually cursing her now, “Oh, for Merlin’s sake! Accio potions book.”

She didn’t even see him get his wand out. Maybe he had it all along. Either way, the next thing Hermione knew, one of the Magical Drafts and Potions she held on to zoomed out of her grasp and thumped against Malfoy’s chest. The clutter of things in her arms lost the security the book apparently provided and toppled down onto the floor, causing her ink bottle to smash over her notes and soak her own copy of Potions.

Both her and Malfoy stared at the mess blankly for a second, and then just as Hermione said:

“Reparo!”

Malfoy muttered:

“Scurgify,” making her possessions return to their previous state.

Hermione found herself so stunned by the gesture that by the time she knew to look up at Malfoy, he was already halfway down the hall, his shoulders looking very square and very tense.

“What is all this noise?” Madam Pince’s permanently hushed, though nonetheless outraged voice flared behind her back, making her turn and face the librarian, “Oh, it’s you miss Granger…”

“I’m sorry, madam. Just clumsy, is all.” She muttered distractedly.

She had to give it to him, Malfoy knew how to avoid getting caught, Hermione thought walking through the door that Madam Pince held open for her, surely in a display of uncanny affection. Much like all those years ago in the Hogwarts Express though, she couldn’t help but wish she wasn’t there all alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This makes me really excited for the first time in a while, so leave me comments and tell me what you think :)


	3. OBSCURE MATTERS

The next time he saw Herm – Granger – was on his way to lunch, Pansy on his arm chatting with Blaise, and Crabbe and Goyle trailing lazily behind them. For all the time he spent maintaining distance and feigning disinterest, his eyes still had to get used to not following her in the crowd.

The Weasel emerged at her side just as Draco was about to force his attention away, his knickers clearly in a twist about something. Without even realizing, Draco picked up his pace, his ears straining to catch the bits of their conversation.

“…find me? How’s Harry?” Hermione – Granger – demanded before the other could get anything out.

“Well, maybe you would’ve known if you came to see him,” Weasley whined, “What have you been up to anyway?”

“I was at the library, Ronald.” She responded coolly, her voice clipped.

“Honestly, you are mental!” He groaned, his brows knitting together, “I would’ve thought your best mate landing in the Hospital Wing would’ve made the top your list for once…”

“Right, because you’ve been such a great friend lately,” She scoffed.

Pansy said something in Draco’s ear and he nodded without even registering what it was.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The Weasel wailed, his face gradually adopting the same shade as his hair, turning his head into a solid splotch of copper that irritated Draco’s eyes.

“First the World Quidditch Cup last year, now his Prefect badge?” Hermione shot him a meaningful look, “It seems to me like you’re only remembering that you are his ‘mate’ when something goes wrong for him.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The redhead grunted stubbornly, though his voice was barely loud enough for Draco to hear.

“Don’t you?” She snapped, “Well I do. And I’m tired of listening to the two of you row and bicker all the time! So if all you can do is sit by his bed then go ahead. In the meantime, I’ll try and find out as much as I can about what’s really happened to him. On my own.”

“That’s what you think?” Weasley bellowed turning heads. Pansy fell suspiciously quiet next to him, Draco noticed in exasperation.

For another moment, he watched the two glare at each other, but as entertaining as that was, before the Weasel could elaborate, Draco drew a great sigh, sneered and drawled:

“Would you look at that, two squabbling strays! If I’d known you’ll be at each other’s throats like that, I’d have landed Potter in the Hospital Wing a long time ago. Which of them do you reckon joins Potter first?” He glanced over at his housemates unnecessarily.

“Granger didn’t get her teeth fixed in a while,” Pansy suggested loudly, passing the bushy-haired witch by inches.

“True,” Blaise scoffed, “But Weasley looks way too thick to be trusted with a wand, if you ask me.”

In the corner of his eye, Draco saw the later jerk forward, Hermione seizing his arm to make him stay put.

“Leave it, Ron!” She reasoned. “It’s only Malfoy, what did you expect?”

He didn’t hear the Weasel’s response, but just before moving completely out of earshot, he caught Granger asking in a milder tone:

“So how’s Harry, did Madame Pomfrey say?”

She should’ve thanked him really. But of course she didn’t. Never would, too.

Much later, in the common room after the supper Pansy happily told him and everyone who would listen that Harry – Potter – never regained consciousness. When Madame Pomfrey asked, Blaise told her that it was a Stupefying Charm and that was that. He hung back to keep an eye on Weasley, but nobody doubted that Draco’s misdoing will remain unpunished as they usually did.

He listened to them abuse the Gryffindors a bit longer, sprawled gracefully on a black leather sofa, his head in Pansy’s lap and his lips in a lazy curve. There wasn’t much to the evenings at school, but then home wasn’t that different. It must’ve been him then, Draco thought, losing his patience and feeling too worn out to keep up the act.

He left under a false pretense of finishing his essay for Snape, even though the Defense Against the Dark Arts was the next day, which meant it has been done and forgotten about a long time ago. In his dorm at least Draco could breathe freely, which mostly meant taking sharp ragged inhales. He stood like that, a solid barrier of a door behind his back separating him from the rest of the castle, breathing and starring at his shaking hands.

If he could be honest for just one second, he was terrified. Every time he heard about Potter, his heart seemed to drop into an endless black pit never emerging until he’d hear the name again.

What if he never woke up?

What if he did, but there was something horribly wrong with him?

Draco gasped, then sobbed miserably.

It was all his fault. Always!

What was he doing always acting that way, always ruining things he laid his hands on.

Poisonous… That’s what he was. That’s why only Pansy and Zabini could stand to be around him, after all they were snakes too…

He couldn’t sleep until after midnight, laying quietly in a soothing quiet darkness, drowning, listening to the distant shuffles of the other Slytherins hitting their respectable rooms. The sleep seized him suddenly and without warning, like a pointed claw of a monster that had no name to it. 

In his dream, Draco was seven again, running through a sea of dress robes flooding their ballroom, Pansy chasing after him. It was the first time they met. His mother arranged the outing, inviting Pansy’s parents as a political statement of some sort. He never met a girl his exact age before and he couldn’t remember ever having so much fun.

Which probably explained how he ended misjudging the direction he ran in, colliding into a tall figure in black velvet. The man turned slowly, looking down at him with barely concealed distaste.

“Narcissa, dear.” His father called in a carefully measured voice and Draco’s mother slid gracefully into view, her expression, though not as cold as Lucius’, similarly unimpressed.

“Help our son collect himself, would you?”

She didn’t need to be told twice, seizing Draco’s hand in a firm grip and pulling him away from the room.

Once outside, in a cool and quiet marble hall, she sank to her knees in front of him and set to fixing the collar of his robes.

“What did your father tell you, Draco?” She asked without looking away from her task, her lips pursed and her nose wrinkled as if she smelled foul.

“I know, mother. It won’t happen again,” He hurried to assure her, shuddering at the memory of the look his father shot him.

“What did he tell you?” His mother promoted again as if he didn’t say anything at all.

“Children ought to be seen, not heard.” He recited dutifully.

Narcissa looked up at that, still rather testily, but not so pointedly anymore.

“You are to keep that in mind if you want to be allowed into the civilized society.”

He was allowed back, Draco remembered almost as an afterthought, as the edges of his dream melted with another, later image, but he never allowed himself to lose his guard like that again, choosing instead to take out his frustration by abusing Pansy’s manners and looks…

It was the first week of his summer after his second year at Hogwarts next, his father spitting:

“Outperformed by a mudblood again! And in every subject. What an embarrassment…”

“I’m only second in my year, father!” He tried to amend despite knowing immediately that it was to no avail.

“There is no such thing as second best, Draco. Either you come out on top or you fail. And there is no place for failure in this family; you ought to know that much by now.”

Before he got to respond, the image shifted again, onwards to his third year.

“How dare you talk to me, you filthy little mudblood!” He bristled.

It was the first time he really knew what he was saying. And meant it…

Then, wandering down the halls at night just last year, too restless and agitated about the upcoming quidditch match to stay in the stuffy windowless dungeon. Hiding in a room from Filch, a room full of things, hidden things, lost things, and among those things himself standing next to Hermione – Granger – and Potter. Only they were younger, first years perhaps, and for some unfathomable reason the other two smiled at him, with him even, their half-transparent figures framed in an old gilded carcass with an odd inscription of ‘Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi’ around it.

Next, Draco lashing out, casting curse after a useless curse at the offensive object: “Reducto! Redu – Bombarda! Stupefy!” before crumbling on the floor, his back against the cool surface of it, observing over his shoulder how the reflections of the two people he antagonized and despised through as those years bent down to comfort him.

All he could feel was cold. Cold in that grand mansion, cold in the dungeon, cold sitting on the stone floor leaning against a mirror.

Draco awoke with a shudder.

The realization that this wasn’t another dream, another memory didn’t hit him at once. The first thing that struck him as odd was his almost-bunt-down candle suspended in the air, and then his blurry vision cleared.

His discarded robes, his trunk, his broom, books, even his writing desk, dresser and the bed he was currently lying on, paralyzed, all floated several inches off the floor, the very air around him flickering with electricity.

For a moment Draco hoped against hope, it was a trick of light, his sleep-fuzzy head making a fool out of him. And then he let out a single sharp breath, and everything crashed to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So annoyed about no being able to upload more often! Hope some of you stick with it anyway though. If you do, let me know what you think! You might just see that I take your opinions and comments into account very much and that they are my great source of inspiration <3


	4. HOSPITAL WING VISITORS

Harry’s eyes snapped open.

The first thing he became aware of was a wave of dry hear rolling over him, making his skin strain against his bones, taut and withered. Next came the recognition of a blurry movement just to his right, a flicker of light, then the familiar voice whispering urgently:

“Harry! Oh dear, are you alright?” A pause, filled with expectation, followed by: “Harry?”

“What?” He moved his parchment lips, his tongue stiff and unhelpful against them.

His eyes just refused to focus.

Then, he remembered.

“My glasses,” He rasped.

“Right,” The voice bloomed again, “Here.”

A warm touch to his hand, pressing in the cool shape of his glasses. He blinked putting them on; his eyes felt as if someone rubbed them with sandpaper.

“How are you feeling?”

He looked up.

He was in the Hospital Wing, the tall walls and rows of beds an oddly comforting sight. It was dark, not only outside, all the candles in the room were blown out, the only source of illumination a tip of Hermione’s wand. It must’ve been after the curfew.

“Hermione,” He realized suddenly, “What are you doing here?”

She looked positively exhausted – her hair even bushier than usual and her robes looking as rumpled and tired as Harry felt – cuddled up with her feet up on a stiff visitors’ chair with a dusty great tome and her wand out for light.

“Oh, I know,” Hermione moaned, her expression absolutely miserable, “I’ll be in so much trouble if anyone sees me! And now that I’m a prefect, too.”

Harry’s heart pounded heavily. It must’ve been that bad.

“So what happened?” He asked, keeping his voice carefully casual.

“You don’t remember?”

He strained his memory, his temples responding with sound pounding to the effort…

“We were waiting for Slughorn,” he began uncertainly, the recollection thin and fuzzy in his mind.

“Professor Slughorn,” Hermione corrected automatically; Harry ignored her.

“Right, and then… And then,” He winced, struggling, before the flash of recollection put everything into place, “Malfoy. It was Malfoy wasn’t it?”

Hermione bowed her head grimly.

“He started with Ron again. You steeped in.”

“What was it? Stupefy?”

This time, she shook her head instead. Harry waited for her to continue, but she never did, keeping her lips shut tight, as if afraid that if she let them loose, something horrible would escape.

“Come off it, it’s only Malfoy. Surely it couldn’t be that bad!” Harry tried, forcing his voice to remain light, conversational. It was almost easy, too; the memory seemed reluctant to connect with him as if it was somebody else’s.

“I don’t know,” Hermione managed thickly, her eyes still glued firmly to the page of her book, “I’ve never heard the spell he used, and when I asked him, he said he didn’t know what it did either…”

“You asked him?” Harry interrupted her, horrified, sitting up on his bed without meaning to, “What on Earth did you talk to him for?”

That finally made her look up, her eyes startled and dark in the low glow.

“Slughorn made us partner in class,” She explained in a rush, “And he acted, well… You know Malfoy, so you can’t really blame me for losing my temper. Especially after what he’s done! But none of that matters, what matters is that I’ve spent all day in and out of the Library, and didn’t find anything about it! And then Madam Pince closed up for the night and I was going to go back to the common room, but Ron’s been… He’s been coming in to check on you all day, so I thought I’ll pop in and see you for a bit before Madam Pomfrey locks up too, but by the time I got here she must’ve already gone to bed, so…”

Harry sighed and then smiled despite himself.

“You broke into the Hospital Wing,” He concluded for her.

“I was only going to stay for a little while, but then I came by this chapter – Oh, hush, you! Or Madam Pomfrey will hear.”

He couldn’t help laughing softly. This was all such a load of nonsense, but even in the midst of it all Hermione was Hermione. And soon enough she began to giggle along with him, warm and affectionate, and familiar.

“So, what do you reckon he did to me?” Harry whispered after a while, when their hushed laughter faded and the faded air around the rows of empty bed started to press on him again.

“I wish I knew,” Hermione frowned and pursed her lips; this was clearly keeping her on her toes, “I had half a mind to go to professor McGonagall with this all day!”

“Don’t,” He blurted without thinking. It was bad enough that Malfoy landed him in the Hospital Wing in the first place, involving McGonagall would surely only make the matters worse, “We’ll figure it out ourselves. You’re the brightest witch that I know and I – I feel better already. Honestly, Hermione, there’s no need!”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” She shut her book rather forcefully considering their circumstance, and looked suddenly cross, “You think you’ve got to take him on all on your own, but can’t you see that this is giving Malfoy exactly what he wants? I don’t care what people say, he can’t forever get away with these things and you can’t – “

“Yes, I can,” Harry cut her off sharply, “I _can_ take him on on my own and I don’t need McGonagall to hover over my shoulder for that!”

“Professor McGonagall,” Hermione reprimanded harshly.

“Listen,” He tried to sound more level, more reasonable this time, “If I get any worse, I promise I’ll do whatever you say, alright? But I don’t want to cry werewolf if there’s nothing even wrong with me, and at the moment, I feel fine!”

“Do you really?” She implored, not entirely convinced.

Harry didn’t. If anything, he felt like a Sopophorous bean that was left in the sun for too long, but he didn’t say that. Instead he said:

“I do,” putting all his effort into sounding confident and final.

“Would you at least write to your parents?” Hermione mused thoughtfully.

This was their ongoing argument for years now. She’s always been very fond of Lily and James, arguably before she even met them; and Potters in turn had a soft spot for her. And it’s not like this usually bothered Harry, it didn’t as long as Hermione didn’t expect the same reverence towards them from him. To Harry they quite expectedly were just mum and dad, loving, vaguely embarrassing and at times overprotective, but that was, honestly, it to how they didn’t always see eye to eye on the topic, no matter how much she’d wish there was more to it.

Harry gave it a thought either way, for her sake more than his own.

“I’ll write to Sirius,” He admitted finally, albeit begrudgingly.

Hermione looked as if she wanted to argue, so Harry gave her his best defiant expression, and at the end she subsided to the compromise.

“Say ‘hi’ for me,” She huffed stiffly, and settled more comfortably in her hard chair, opening her book to where she left off.

Harry drifted in and out of sleep for a while, his dreams anxious and haunting, chasing him down winding marble corridors and trapping him underground.

When he awoke again, Hermione was gone, the sight of her vacant chair sobering Harry up as a bucket of cold water. In her stead, there was Madam Pomfrey, bustling around clinking vials and hurrying over to him as soon as she realized that he’s awake.

“Potter,” She gasped, feeling his forehead and tilting his face in a practiced way to take a closer look at his eyes, “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” He croaked, accepting a glass of water from the matron, before trying his voice again.

“I don’t reckon that was a Stupefying Charm that got you after all,” She muttered sternly, but without really expecting an answer, “Stayed unconscious for twelve hours…”

From the corner of his eye Harry watched her pick vials from his bedside table and pour drops from some and spoonfuls from the others into a steaming goblet. Momentarily Harry didn’t feel the need to correct her, feeling immensely lucky on Hermione’s behalf.  

“Any headache? Dizziness? Other unusual sensations?” She peered at him, shooting the questions in a brisk sequence.

“I feel a bit tired, but otherwise, I’m fine, really,” he hurried to assure her.

“That’s what I thought,” Madame Pomfrey pursed her lips much like Hermione before, as if his answer was somehow unsatisfactory, and handed him a goblet, “Drink up!”

“What is that?” Harry asked skeptically, accepting the cup.

“Strengthening Solution, Potter.” The matron responded indignantly, as if the answers to such nonsense questions were more than redundant and stalked off, leaving him to follow her instructions.

She insisted he remains under her observation throughout the day no matter how much Harry tried to convince her that he felt better, and soon enough he found himself staring listlessly at the distant ceiling, getting bored.

At least he didn’t have to entertain himself for too long; Ginny visited him first looking a bit ruffled and a bit restless.

“Hey, Harry,” She threw herself at the same visitors’ chair Hermione occupied not so long ago, “Can I hide here for a while? Hermione told me you were awake, so I thought I might as well come and see you, if I’m missing breakfast anyway.”

“Sure,” He grinned, “Is everything alright?”

Ginny hissed a bit like a cat and rolled her eyes. He couldn’t take his eyes off her face, shifting between emotions so quickly, it was a bit like a game trying to collect and decipher all of them.

“Ron,” She announced finally as a means of explanation.

“What about Ron?” Harry frowned, studying her even closer; something inside him swelled contentedly at having such option.

“Oh, you know how he’s been,” Ginny complained, crossing her arms over her chest now, in a very Mrs. Weasley-like manner, “He’s been snappy – snappier than usual, I mean - ever since you and Hermione received your prefect badges. Fred and George tried to cheer him up back home, they even made him this badge that said “Poutfect”, Harry chortled.

“Brillian, right?” Ginny nodded enthusiastically, “Ron didn’t speak to them for two whole weeks. I thought mum might send him to Hogwarts early. By post! So then I tried to set him up with Lavender Brown, you know, she fancies him.”

“Really?” Harry raised his eyebrows, bemused. He never noticed, not that he noticed Lavender Brown a lot, but still, Ron was his best mate.

“Thought snogging an actual girl might do him some good,” She shrugged, “Especially now that he’s giving me such a hard time about Dean…”

The content creature inside him stirred, showing claws.

“And?” He scrambled to return the conversation to a safer direction.

“Let’s just say that when it comes to dating, he can be really thick,” She concluded grimly, “So now every time he sees me and Dean somewhere near each other, he goes berserk. We got in a row last night about it, so now I’m giving myself some time to cool off. Mum would pull me out of Hogwarts if I hexed him, I think…”

Harry, who’s heard more than enough of Ron’s arguments against Dean in the past couples of weeks, tried to commiserate with Ginny, but the truth was that when it came down to her dating history, he couldn’t be entirely impartial. For a while, especially some months after his breakup with Cho last year, he tried to convince himself that it was just a brotherly concern he felt towards her, but now that she was around again, it became rapidly clearer that that was not the case.

Eventually, though, Harry figured he could take a neutral route here, settling for a fairly mild:

“He’ll come around.”

Ginny laughed, then shot him a quick pointed glance.

“I guess you can’t speak against him, can you? Silly of me to complain about my brother to his best mate.”

He gave her a long, thoughtful look, then made up his mind.

“You can talk to me,” He said softly, “I don’t mind.”

And he might’ve have imagined this, be he would swear that when Ginny looked at him, there was more than just polite gratitude in her eyes.

From then on, their conversation moved to quidditch and classes, and sooner rather than later she had to leave for her first class of the day – Transfiguration, and Harry was alone again thinking about how strange it was that a little more than a year ago she couldn’t even speak if he was in the room.

Ron visited him last, barging in loudly after the Defense Against the Dark Arts they shared with Slytherin, and looking worse for wear. The moment his eyes settled on Harry’s bed though, his face transformed.

“Harry!” He beamed, “You’re awake!”

“Yeah,” Harry grinned back, feeling only mildly guilty about almost agreeing with Ginny earlier about Ron, “Hermione didn’t say?”

“Hermione?” Ron’s face fell just as quickly as it illuminated before, and he slowed down on his way over, “I haven’t seen her all morning. When has she been to see you?”

Harry cast around to make sure Madam Pomfrey was out of earshot.

“Last night, after the curfew,” He lowered his voice just in case, “She came here after Madam Pince kicked her out of the library. But she said you’ve been popping in and out all day yesterday.”

“She did, did she?” Ron muttered glumly, “What else did she tell you?”

Harry gave him a long hard look and resolved to keep his head.

“About Malfoy and his spell,” He responded levelly, “You know that she didn’t find anything about it? I’d bet my term allowance that it’s something from the restricted section.”

“Good too know Hermione’s been so very helpful,” Ron scoffed bitterly, staring intently just over Harry’s head, at the empty dust-covered corner of the room.

“What? What’re you even on about?” Harry grimaced and shifted on his pillows, feeling suddenly very tired. Maybe if he asked Madam Pomfrey for another helping of the Strengthening Solution…

“Never mind, I guess I’m only here to make the two of you look good.”

“Ron – “

“Don’t,” He glowered, “Don’t tell me I’m imagining things again. I can see perfectly well what’s going on here!”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Harry replied very quietly and very evenly, “I was going to tell you to sort yourself out, because all this nonsense of yours is starting to wear me down. We’re your friends. If that’s so unbelievable, why are you even wasting your time?”

“Maybe I won’t then,” Ron muttered stubbornly after a long minute of tense silence.

“Fine,” Harry snapped.

“Fine!” He growled.

“What is this fuss,” Madam Pomfrey glared at them, rushing out of her private rooms.

Ron looked as if he was about to talk back to her, but thought better of it. In the end he just huffed, stomped his foot and stormed out.

“Sorry,” Harry muttered dully not quite raising his eyes.

“You better get some rest Potter, or I’m keeping you here overnight,” the matron warned before leaving again.

Harry laid back against his pillows.

It’s not like Ron was wrong really. The truth was that Harry, and probably Hermione as well, always did need him more than he needed them. They’ve been holding him back all these years, expecting him to cheer for them when they were struggling and pat them on the back when they did well, never having a shot at being on top himself. But that somehow always ended up the case and no matter how much Harry tried to convince himself that he knew better, his own insecurity always seemed to overpower any sense of accountability he felt for Ron’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who needs life when you have an OTP, right? I know I'm procrastinating work with this. Let me know if it's worth it, I need validation XD


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